


in the rush of falling

by abovetheruins



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Haunted Sleepovers, M/M, Ryan works at Buzzfeed, Shane owns a haunted bar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 14:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14956448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: In which Shane owns a (not) haunted bar and Ryan is the stubborn ghost hunter determined to investigate it.Inspired by the Moon River Brewing episode.





	1. tinsley's.

**Author's Note:**

> This one's gonna be a short ride, folks! I'm thinking maybe five chapters or so, though I'm notorious for failing at keeping my fics short so that number could grow! Keep an eye on the rating too, since it will probably go up as we go along.
> 
> A huge thanks to devasenas, not only for encouraging me to write this but for suggesting the name for the bar. You rock <3

"He's here again," are the first words out of Jen's mouth as she steps into the back, the dull roar of music and conversation fading as the door slips shut behind her. 

Shane, balancing a crate of beer in his arms, makes an about face turn and immediately heads back the way he came. Surely there's some inventory that needs doing. His office is probably a mess; he should take care of that, immediately. 

A hand wraps around his collar and jerks him backward, the beer bottles rattling as they're jostled and nearly upended onto the floor. He doesn't even need to hear Jen's cheery voice chirping, "He's asking for you, Boss," to know exactly who's gotten a hold of him.

"You deal with him," he says, tugging his collar free of her grip and twisting around to face her. "Tell him to scram. Boss' orders."

"And watch that little face fall?" Jen asks, mock-aghast. "I wouldn't have the heart. Besides, I'm not the one he asked for. By name." She waggles her eyebrows, and damn him, Shane feels a smile tugging at his lips in response.

"He's only after me for one thing, Jen, don't get excited."

She sighs gustily, her typical response to him ruining her fun. "Why don't you just give it to him, then?"

Shane gives her a look. "Because he wants to spend a night in my bar. To hunt for ghosts. It's _asinine_."

"He's just curious,” Jen says, rolling her eyes at his exaggerated frown. “Everybody is, once they hear about the place. Wouldn’t hurt to hear him out, would it? His show’s pretty popular, you know. That sort of media attention could drum up more business for us."

Shane raises a single eyebrow. "Are you saying that because you legitimately believe some good will come of it, or because you're convinced he wants to get into my pants?"

Jen’s lips quirk into a mischievous grin. It’s all the answer he needs, really, but that doesn’t stop her from biting back with a question of her own. "That depends – do you keep telling him no because you’re against the idea or so he'll keep coming back?"

Shane opens his mouth, confident that a retort lies ready on his tongue – 

– and makes a beeline for the door, allowing the rush of noise from the bar to drown out Jen’s laughter. She’ll corner and interrogate him later, but whatever. 

He ignores the little voice in his head – the one that sounds remarkably like Jen – crowing that he’d run away just so he could avoid the question. It’s not running away if he’s got a shit to do, Shane reasons. Saturday is _Tinsley’s_ busiest night, after all, and the place is packed, full of people looking to unwind after a hectic week: groups of friends and couples and folks flying solo clustered around the tables scattered throughout the room or parked at the bar. 

There are a few people circling the tiny stage set up in the corner, too, the one occupied by a beat up standing piano and a young man crooning along with the music, and if Shane’s arms weren’t wrapped around a heavy crate right now he’d give himself a pat on the back. It’d been a spur of the moment idea on his part to hire someone to come in three nights a week and play up the crowd, add a little class to the place, and so far it’s been a massive hit. 

His good mood doesn’t last long, unfortunately. Shane’s two steps into the room when he remembers why he’d been so reluctant to come out in the first place, and, more specifically, _who_ he’d been so reluctant to see. 

“There you are!” shouts a familiar dark-haired menace. He’s perched on a stool at the bar, the same one he’s taken every Saturday for the past three weeks now, a beer bottle sweating in front of him – courtesy of Jen, Shane’s sure, and also probably on the house, because she lives to torment him – and a pile of shredded napkin guts scattered on the counter. Ah, so he’s nervous.

Moreso than usual, by the looks of it, which… isn’t really saying much. Ryan’s a pretty nervous guy, or so Shane’s come to learn. Nervous and easily excitable and kind of tiny, despite the size of those arms. Also? Stubborn. _So_ goddamn stubborn.

“Back for more, eh, Bergara?” he quips, ducking beneath the counter and stowing his armload on one of the lower shelves to be packed away later. “You got a thing for rejection I should know about, or… ?”

“I’ll stop coming back when you start giving me better excuses,” Ryan chirps, grinning sunnily. That smile of his should come with a warning label, as bright as it is. Asshole.

“Not believing in ghosts isn’t an _excuse_ , Ryan,” Shane scoffs, incredulous. “It’s just… facts. You know, facts? Things that are not debatable? Like the fact that my bar isn’t haunted.”

Ryan’s lips twitch into a frown, the first hint of displeasure in his dark eyes. Boom, score one for Shane.

“There have been numerous reports in the last four years alone – “ 

“Made by people drunk out of their minds or easily influenced by rumors or both,” Shane interrupts, giving Ryan a dry look. They’ve had this same conversation before – many times, actually. He’s beginning to wonder if Ryan just gets off on lost causes. “Also, don’t use your investigator voice. You know what it does to me.”

Ryan sighs out a breath through his nose, slow, the way he usually does when Shane’s getting on his last nerves. Shane tries not to grin. “Bottles falling from shelves, employees claiming to have been touched or even pushed by unseen forces, reports of disembodied voices – “

“ _Ryan_.” Something about the tone of his voice, maybe the exasperated edge Shane can’t quite suppress, draws Ryan up short, his lips clamping shut. There’s a furrow to his brows that Shane should definitely not feel bad about, and he doesn’t – he _doesn’t_ – but his voice softens, anyway. “Look, I’ve spent the last four years here, day in and day out, and never seen or heard anything that would ever suggest that this place is full of ghosts. Okay?”

Ryan’s eyes catch on his and then slide away, an unhappy slant to his mouth that should not make Shane feel as shitty as it does. “Okay.” It’s just a mutter, barely audible over the din of muffled conversation and music. It’s a far cry from Ryan’s usual enthusiasm and pretty alarming because of it, simply because Ryan seems to be enthusiastic about _everything_. Whether it’s trying to convince Shane that his bar is haunted or plying Jen for more of her stories (stories which usually include Shane and the sort of embarrassing situations that Jen always seems to be around to witness), Ryan is rarely without his trademark toothy grin or wheezing laugh.

To see him without both and looking so defeated is… weird. Weird and not entirely pleasant. 

And it’s so _stupid_ , okay, because Shane shouldn’t feel like an ass for telling Ryan no. It’s not like his is the only establishment in L.A. that’s rumored to be haunted. Hell, he doubts it’s even the only _bar_. Ryan can always find somewhere else to film for his little show, and then he can stop coming in every weekend to hang out at the bar and conspire with Shane’s employees and bug Shane about things that don’t exist.

Which is exactly what Shane wants.

Really.

The unpleasant twinge in his chest as Ryan slides his bottle across the bar and prepares to leave says otherwise, and Shane takes a moment to curse the nonexistence of ghosts, amateur paranormal investigators who can’t take no for an answer, and his own goddamn bleeding heart before he leans across the counter, bracing his arms on the slightly sticky top, and snatches Ryan’s sleeve. 

“One condition,” he says, raising a finger. 

Ryan wavers in place, obviously – and understandably – confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll let you do it. I’ll let you – “ Oh, goddamn it. “I’ll let you _investigate_ my bar, but only on one condition.”

Watching Ryan’s lips stretch into a grin, his eyes crinkling with the force of its brilliance, should not be the least bit effective, and yet. 

(Shane takes a second to glance around and make sure Jen isn’t privy to this moment. He’d never live it down.)

“What’s the condition?” Ryan asks, his familiar exuberance back in full force. His eyes are practically dancing, for fuck’s sake, and Shane can’t help but shake his head in fond amusement, even as he dreads his next words.

“I have to be with you, every step of the way.” He’s not about to risk having everyone think he believes in all this ghost talk, regardless of his allowing Ryan to film there for his show. Plus, as much as he genuinely believes that Ryan is a good guy – a slightly deluded one, true, but good nonetheless – _Tinsley’s_ is Shane’s baby, and he isn’t about to let just anyone gallivant around inside of her alone for an entire night. 

Ryan looks more surprised than dismayed at his request, thankfully. “Really? You want to come along on the investigation?”

_No_ is on the tip of Shane’s tongue, because it’s the truth, but he’s already made Ryan feel like shit once tonight and that was more than enough for Shane to realize he’s not a fan. 0/10 would not recommend. 

“That’s right,” he says, releasing Ryan’s sleeve and slapping his hands down onto the countertop. The logical part of his brain is curled up in a corner somewhere quietly weeping, but fuck it. It’s one night. He can handle it. “Take it or leave it, Bergara. What do you say?”

Ryan’s smile grows even wider, if that’s at all possible, excitement practically radiating from his pores as he reaches out a hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Madej,” he says, all brightness and enthusiasm once again. Shane wonders if he’ll be this perky during the investigation, wonders if that’s a good or a bad thing, and then grabs Ryan’s hand before he can come to his senses.

_Well_ , he thinks, Ryan’s palm warm against his. _Here goes nothing_.


	2. research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone remember this fic? :P

Shane spends the next week simultaneously wishing he could go back in time and staple his own mouth shut and actually, somehow, looking forward to the investigation.

Only so that he can get it over with, of course, and _not_ because he's looking forward to seeing Ryan, no matter how often Jen tries to convince herself - and everyone else - otherwise.

"Just admit that you're excited about your haunted slumber party and I'll stop bringing it up," she tells him on Tuesday night, casual as you please and in full earshot of at least half a dozen patrons. Most of them are regulars who have learned to mind their own business, so Shane takes a page from their book and ignores her, too, pretending to be captivated by a particularly fascinating stain on the countertop.

"I think it's exciting," Maycie chimes in, mixing a drink with quick, practiced flicks of her wrist and plopping it down in front of its owner with a smile. " _Tinsley's_ has never been filmed before. It'll be good for business!”

Shane shoots a pointed glare in Jen's direction, mouthing _rabble-rouser_. "Despite what _some_ people seem to believe," he says out loud, ignoring Jen sticking her tongue out at him, "I doubt the kind of crowd that Ryan's little show is bound to attract is the kind I want anywhere near my bar."

"You mean, the kind with money?" Jen quips, sarcasm thick in her voice.

"No," Shane replies, giving a theatrical shudder. "The kind that believe in _ghosts_."

They've had more than their fair share of that crowd over the years, especially after _Tinsley's_ had first opened. The history of the place and the rumors churned up from previous tenants had drawn all sorts to their front door, from morbid onlookers attracted to the building's violent past to curious lookie-loos hoping to catch a glimpse of the so-called spirits that allegedly haunted the place. It was all bullshit, of course, but that didn't stop the occasional questions from curious barflies.

His employees certainly didn't help, preferring to encourage the rumors with stories of their own, regaling patrons with exaggerated tales of falling bottles and whispered voices and cold spots cropping up out of nowhere.

Bullshit.

But it was bullshit Shane had signed on for when he'd bought the place, well aware of its history and the rumors that came with it, and if it drummed up business for the bar, well, he'd deal with it.

Jen bumps her hip against his, reaching for a glass and filling it with beer from the tap. "Would you stop worrying?" she asks, a knowing grin on her face. "It'll be fine. Ryan's a genuine guy, he knows how important _Tinsley's_ is to you. He'll treat her right."

"He better," Shane grumbles, though he knows it's true. Ryan isn't one of those assholes who would rather trade substance for flash, and even though he can be a stubborn little fucker, he's never been anything but respectful when asking Shane about the bar. Plus, Shane will be with him the whole time. There's nothing to worry about.

Other than the fact that he's signed up to tag along with a guy who makes a living hunting ghosts. Good lord.

"Be nice," Jen laughs after he groans about his poor life choices. "You might actually have a good time. Have you actually watched his show? It's great."

Shane hasn't, though he has admittedly been curious. He just can't picture Ryan - excitable, jumpy Ryan - willingly traipsing through abandoned hospitals and crumbling asylums without losing his goddamn mind.

It's at Jen's behest that he finally sits down and watches a few episodes that night, and by the end of the first investigation his suspicions are proven right. Ryan's a nervous wreck on camera, though he holds it together remarkably well considering how small his pupils shrink as soon as he hears a noise.

Shane actually feels kind of bad for him. It's clear by the footage that he's afraid, though his desire to capture evidence of the supernatural seems to be enough incentive to push him through each investigation. There's nothing and no one to talk him down when he gets truly worked up, though. Shane wonders how the cameramen stay so damn silent.

He feels better after he's watched all of the episodes, at least. Ryan may jump at shadows and freak out over wind and creaking floorboards, but he doesn't phone his reactions in for the sake of views, and he seems legitimately invested in exploring the history of the places he visits. Like Jen said, he's a genuine guy.

That doesn't stop Shane from teasing him mercilessly, though.

S (1:41 am): _Watched your show and holy shit, I knew you were loud but I didn’t realize your voice could go THAT high. Consider me impressed_.

He’s barely set his phone down before it dings with a new message.

R (1:43 am): _Fuck off, my screams are perfectly normal_.

R (1:43 am): _Manly, even_.

R (1:44 am): _Also, you JUST watched Unsolved? Really, dude?_

Shane mouths the word ‘dude’ around a laugh, shaking his head at Ryan’s utter… Ryan-ness.

S (1:46 am): _Hey, I'm a busy guy._

R (1:48 am): _Yeah, yeah, How far did you get?_

Shane hesitates; it feels like he’s confessing to something if he tells the truth, though he shakes the thought off as ridiculous, because it is.

S (1:51 am): _Watched the whole shebang. Had to do my research, you know._ The urge to add a wink at the end of the text is strong; if Jen were there she’d probably force him to, convinced as she is that he and Ryan have been flirting for the past few weeks. Another ridiculous thought.

R (1:53 am): _You got sucked in, didn’t you?_ Smug satisfaction drips from the words, even through text, and oh, that’s insufferable.

S (1:55 am): _I was morbidly fascinated. You get very... excited_. It’s a deflection if he’s ever heard one and Ryan probably sees right through it, but fuck it, he’s not about to admit that he was intrigued by haunted houses or old dolls. He hadn’t exactly been watching for the locales, anyway.

R (1:57 am): _Hey, you’d have lost your shit too if you were with me_.

Shane snorts, stretching out along the couch and settling in. His cat takes the opportunity to climb up onto his belly and tilt his head in search of pets, and Shane pushes his fingers through soft orange fur as he types out one-handed, _I highly doubt that. Things that don’t exist don’t scare me much_.

R (2:01 am): _We’ll see about that this weekend_. A slew of ghost emojis follows the text, with a middle finger emoji thrown in for zest.

Shane laughs, even as Obi gives him a disgruntled look, unhappy at being jostled. Shane scratches his chin in apology, typing out a challenging little _You’re on, Bergara_ that he can already hear Jen ribbing him for.

_Flirting!_ she’d say, accompanied by that wide Cheshire grin she shoots him every time Ryan saunters into the bar.

_Bantering!_ Shane would shoot back, because that’s all it is – some casual ribbing between not-quite-friends, because they’re not. Friends, that is. They’re barely even acquaintances when it comes right down to it. Anything more isn’t really worth thinking about.

No matter what Jen thinks.

* * *

It’s two a.m. by the time they close up the following Saturday. Shane’s more than capable of locking up on his own and has done so numerous times in the past, but for _some reason_ Jen makes it a point to stick around. Funny, considering she’s parked herself at the bar and looks perfectly content to watch Shane scrub down the counter by himself.

“So, when’s your boyfriend gonna be here?” she asks, twirling her car keys around her finger.

“Not my boyfriend,” Shane mutters, attacking the counter with a little more zeal than absolutely necessary. It’s about as spotless as it’s ever going to get (which is to say, not very), but he needs to focus on _something_ other than the slowly ticking clock over the bar. Not because he’s nervous or anything; he’s just ready to get the whole night over with.

“Bet you’d like him to be,” Jen returns sunnily. She’s been impossible the entire week but seems determined to get in her best work tonight. Shane probably needs to get her out before she offers to stay and chaperone.

He opens his mouth to do just that – because hey, if there’s anything he’s learned over the years, it’s how to toss people out of his bar – but a knock on the door interrupts him.

“Got it!” Jen chirps, hopping off her stool with more enthusiasm than Shane’s seen from her at any point in her employment. She practically skips to the front door, letting in their visitor with a chipper, “Hi there! Welcome to _Tinsley’s_!”

It’s Ryan, of course, looking as sunny as ever despite the late hour, and another guy carting a heavy bag of what Shane assumes must be camera equipment. Behind them come two others, a blonde woman and a dark-haired man Shane vaguely recognizes from the one trip he’d taken down to Ryan’s workplace a few days back. He’d spent at least an hour there signing consent forms and release forms and liability waivers, a little overwhelmed by the whole thing. Who knew ghost hunting required so much paperwork?

Ryan takes one look at Shane and grins, though it’s tinged with a nervousness Shane can’t help but find amusing. The guy’s had no trouble barging in every weekend they’ve known each other to bug Shane about investigating the place, and he chooses _now_ , when Shane’s finally given him what he wants, to be nervous?

“It’s a good thing I’m gonna be with you tonight,” he muses, leaning casually against the counter and cradling his chin in the palm of his hand, “if you’re already looking this peaky.”

Ryan scoffs, his three associates fanning out behind him to start unloading equipment. “Nobody talks like that,” he argues, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a jean jacket over a striped shirt, and the way the denim strains over his biceps is momentarily distracting. “And I’m not _peaky_ , I’m… excited. For the hunt.”

Shane hums. “Scared shitless, you mean? It's okay, Ryan. You don't have to pretend with me."

Ryan shakes his head, as if he can’t believe he’s putting up with this shit. Join the club, buddy. “You’re such a dick, Shane,” he says, though the hint of fondness in his tone (where had that come from?) belies the annoyance of his words.

Jen rolls her eyes and mimes pulling non-existent pigtails over Ryan’s shoulder, fluttering her lashes when Shane catches her in the act. Shane ignores her, and mentally reminds himself to reward her with the shittiest shifts while he's at it.

"So what's the plan, ladies and gents?" he asks, stowing his cleaning rag in the bin behind the bar and rounding the counter.

"First we get you both mic’d up and ready to film," the blonde woman pipes up, a friendly smile on her face. "Devon," she continues, holding out her hand for Shane to shake. "Nice to formally meet you, Mr. Madej! I was so happy when Ryan told us we'd be filming here."

"Heard about the place, huh?" Shane returns, smiling amicably and mentally preparing himself for questions about the building's past or inquiries into all of the rumors that plague the place.

Devon sneaks a peek over her shoulder and, seemingly satisfied that everyone else is occupied for the moment with handling equipment and setting up the intro shot, leans closer and murmurs, "Honestly? I'm just glad Ryan can finally stop _moping_. He was so convinced that you wouldn't agree to the episode that he was this close to giving up, I think."

It's not really news to Shane; he'd known, based on the look on Ryan's face the last time he'd told the guy no, that he was about to… well, give up the ghost, so to speak. You could only be shot down so many times before you packed up and moved on, after all, even if you _were_ a stubborn as fuck ghost hunter.

“What can I say, he finally wore me down.” It’s not even that far from the truth. When he’d first met Ryan Shane had had no trouble showing him the door the second he’d asked about recording at _Tinsley’s_. Now look at him, gamely allowing a microphone to be pinned to his shirt collar and waiting while veritable strangers moved his tables around to prepare for their intro shot.

It hadn’t really hit him until now that he’d actually be on camera with Ryan. Shane’s never been one to suffer from stage fright – his days as a gawky but eager theatre kid had seen to that – but he’s curious as to how his and Ryan’s chemistry will play out in front of a lens, or if they’ll have any chemistry at all. They can trade bants across the bar til the cows come home but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll make compelling television together.

And okay, maybe he doesn’t want Ryan or the fans of his show – mostly the fans – to be disappointed in the episode. Well, more disappointed than they’ll already be when he and Ryan inevitably find nothing supernatural.

Ryan doesn’t seem to have gotten that memo yet. He’s practically vibrating while he talks to one of the cameramen, though whether it’s from fear or excitement Shane can’t really tell. After watching _Unsolved_ , he’s beginning to think the two go hand in hand where Ryan is concerned. No wonder the guy’s so keyed up all the time. It’s more endearing than annoying, for some reason. Shane doesn’t bother to think about why.

“Alright, guys,” Devon calls, gesturing over to the stage where two chairs have been set up, illuminated by the soft glow of the overheads. Coupled with the two cameramen perched just beyond the circle of light, it gives the space a strangely intimate feel. Almost cozy. Shane’s maybe wishing he would have taken a shot of something while he had the chance. “We’re ready for you.”

“Guess that’s my cue,” Jen chirps, grabbing for her coat and slipping her arms through the sleeves with a flourish. “Good luck tonight, Boss, Ryan. Happy ghost hunting!”

“Thanks, Jen,” Ryan says, grinning, already moving to take his place in one of the chairs, but not without shooting a look over his shoulder at Shane and adding, “See, that’s the kind of enthusiasm we need. Maybe we should switch you guys out, let Jen be my guest-host.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that to Shane,” Jen says, her lips curling in a grin. A very familiar grin. Uh oh. “He’s been looking forward to tonight all week!” She shoots a wink in Shane’s direction and flees before he can do so much as squawk in outrage, her chipper, “G’night, Boss!” drowned out by the slam of the front door.

Shane’s left to stare awkwardly after her, a prickling heat in his cheeks that he refuses – absolutely fucking forbids – to allow to become a full-fledged blush.

“Well?” Ryan calls from the stage, a hint of amusement in his voice, and oh, that’s fucking insufferable, like he actually believed Jen’s blatant lie and now thinks he’s got one over on Shane. “Are you ready, big guy?”

Oh, Shane is ready: ready to prove to Ryan that there are no ghouls in _Tinsley’s_ , ready to prove to Jen that there’s nothing but professional curiosity between he and Ryan, and ready to go back to his life before a certain intrepid ghost hunter managed to wiggle his way into it.

He just has to get through the night first. Easy, right?

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to check out the moodboard I made for this fic, [head on over here](https://theawfuledges.tumblr.com/post/174980357434/in-the-rush-of-falling-shyan-haunted-bar-au).


End file.
